


You.

by lookingforatardis



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: Confessions, Frustration, Jealousy, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-21
Updated: 2018-05-21
Packaged: 2019-05-09 21:24:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14723841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lookingforatardis/pseuds/lookingforatardis
Summary: Armie visits Timmy in New York and Timmy ditches him one night to go on a date. Armie isn’t too happy when he finds out to say the least, and does something stupid that leads to Timmy questioning everything.





	You.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ChunkMonk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChunkMonk/gifts).



> thanks for the prompt @rainbowdazzle :)

 

Timmy met her at a bar in London. She didn't recognize him and they ended up closing the bar down talking about things that didn't matter. She was from New York, too, but was backpacking. Not a big movie fan, couldn't be bothered to sit through one. She was pretty, though, and something about her made Timmy able to forget the blue eyes that haunted his dreams, so he told himself their differences could be overcome. She mocked him a little when she found out what he did, but could see he was serious, so she backed off. They saw each other three times before she went back to America and he had to switch locations for his film, but they kept in touch off and on until he returned. She told her friends about him, still not quite believing he'd live up to the hype he insisted surrounded him one night. Someone called a few hours later, told her to stop talking about it to strangers, that if she wanted to see him to be careful with what she shared on the internet since she knew things about his current project she shouldn’t. She called him, shouting, asking how many people he had on the line, was she just another told to keep her mouth shut. It was the first time he noticed she didn’t really know him at all.

They didn't talk for a few weeks after that, and Timmy had called Armie. That was the first he heard about the girl. Armie had to swallow his emotions to keep Timmy calm, to explain she was angry and maybe this was for the best if she didn't understand his life. He tried not to be biased. He stayed on with him for hours until Timmy stopped talking about her and started telling stories of filming instead, asking when he could come visit Armie next. Timmy let go of her, realized her lifestyle and his would never work well, that her friends didn't even like him, that she criticized more about him than she accepted or praised. He settled into his life again and returned to the states. He went out with some other people, who Armie attempted to carefully hide his feelings about when Timmy would tell him, but nothing was ever serious. Things were fine, and Armie all but forgot about his flings.

When Armie asked if he could come visit Timmy in the city for a while, there was an understanding there that he needed some space from everything. Timmy was aware that he'd become his refuge, so he didn't question the motivators behind the trip just yet; he could ask those questions when Armie was content and in the city. The day before he arrived, Timmy got a call from her. They met for coffee before Armie's flight got in and talked it out. She told him she was sorry, and she wanted to work things out, but he wasn't so sure that she really cared anymore, or even if he cared. But she was there, and she was trying, so he agreed to dinner the following night despite knowing all along he'd have to find an excuse for Armie that wasn't the truth; Armie didn't like her, and he hadn't made it a secret that if Timmy went back to her, he wouldn't approve. Then again, Armie never really approved, something that Timmy tried not to dwell on or he’d go crazy trying to understand why without projecting.

When Armie arrived, knocking at Timmy's door, refusing to let him pick him up at the airport, Timmy fell into his arms and held on until Armie was laughing and teetering on his feet, trying to walk with both of them back into Timmy's apartment. Timmy didn't let go of his neck when the door shut and laughed breathlessly when Armie tickled his sides in an attempt to get him to release; though, all it did was make Timmy grip him harder, his hands going to Armie's hair in retaliation until both gave up on their endeavors and parted a bit reluctantly. "Man, I missed you," Armie laughed as he leaned against a wall and ran his hands through his now messy hair. Like gravity, Timmy swayed back towards him and leaned his head against Armie's chest for a moment before biting his shoulder lightly and walking away towards his kitchen, a dazed Armie watching him go.

"Want something to drink? Or food—there's a really good Italian place I found since the last time you visited, we could go relive our glory days," Timmy smirked, looking back at him expectantly.

"Hell yeah, let's do it." Timmy nodded at him and wandered away to grab a coat and beanie, stopping only when Armie chuckled behind him.

"What?" Timmy asked, adjusting his hat.

"Your curls are escaping," Armie smiles, reaching over and tugging on the hat in such a way to fit over Timmy's hair better. His hand lingered long enough for Timmy's smile to faulter and eye contact to be too much, the feeling of each other in close proximity for the first time in months crushing their lungs.

"Thanks," Timmy manages eventually, and Armie nods.

They walk to the restaurant— _I swear it's close. Come on, you're practically a New Yorker now, you should like walking—_ and they fall in step with one another, Timmy's hands tucked into his pockets to avoid accidentally touching Armie's when they get too close. She texts him while they're out and he doesn't respond, knowing it wouldn't help the situation but incapable of tearing his attention from Armie all the same. After a few messages, Armie gets annoyed and tells him to answer his damn phone, hearing the vibrations somehow. "You're busy tonight," he noted. "I'm not keeping you from something, am I?" Timmy could hear the slight hint of hurt in his voice and tried to brush it away, his leg knocking against Armie's under the table.

"You're my only plans for tonight," Timmy told him, his cheeks burning red when the words sink in. "I didn't—I mean, you know what I mean."

Armie smirked down at his pasta and shrugged, fighting the butterflies in his stomach even though he knows he doesn’t mean it _like that_. "God, I missed you," he muttered, taking another bite and avoiding Timmy's gaze.

"Whatever."

"I'm serious." Timmy glanced up at him under his lashes, a smile playing on his lips when Armie swallowed hard. "I missed you all flustered—it _is_ entertaining," he teases, Timmy rolling his eyes.

"Dick," Timmy mutters, knocking Armie's knee with his own and masking a smile with his hand. These were always the most confusing dinners for Timmy, the ones where Armie would smile and flirt even. The ones where touch was given more freely, and affectionate glances traded like it was nothing. It could be turned off in a second, he knew. He could retreat and Armie would shut down, or Armie would stop them from going too far and Timmy would get silent. They didn't like to talk about it because it was uncomfortable to try to put into words. Timmy understood it as their relationship being somewhere trapped between labels, too familial to be considered friends, but too flirtatious to be considered family, though not flirtatious enough to be considered _more._ It had always been this way, and it was easier to talk about in Italy where they were constantly crossing lines, but now it was just…normal. Timmy had stopped trying to play it off or ignore the way Armie made him feel, but he'd understood that it wasn't something he could ever act on. It was infuriating for a while, but he got over it. Started sleeping with people who didn't make him want to scream every time he looked at their left hands. The dynamics of their relationship hadn't changed at all, but Timmy had found outlets for the energy after realizing it was never happening. The only frustrating part was Armie’s blatant refusal to accept anyone Timmy dated.

Armie hadn't been as lucky. In Italy, he loved talking about it with Timmy. There was something about sitting down with him, with a _man_ , and talking about how attracted he was that left him feeling lighter and lighter. Every time they kissed, it lifted him higher, every brush of hands over thighs or faces made him realize he'd been lost for a long time. He thought by keeping Timmy as a part of his life, he could hold onto that feeling. It took him a while to realize that Timmy just being _in_ his life wouldn't keep that feeling around, that some lines needed to stay crossed to feel light again. He knew their blurry relationship was his own doing, but Timmy never questioned him when he let them fall back into some of their Crema mannerisms… so Armie didn't worry too much, and neither stopped from casual touch and flirtatious banter.

He was unaware that he was pushing himself closer to the edge every day he let them flirt, every time they touched, every time he lingered a little too long. He didn’t realize that the jealousy would creep up on him and overrun everything when he saw people getting to be with Timmy in ways he wasn’t allowed.

On the walk home, Armie pushed Timmy a little too hard while laughing and he stumbled, grabbing Armie's hand to steady himself, the both of them falling against a brick wall. Timmy shoved him away through his laughter and complained about Armie getting him drunk. "You're not getting lucky tonight, just for that."

" _Just_ for that? Wow, Timmy T, I didn't know that's why you insisted on me staying over instead of at a hotel," he teased, Timmy blushing and rolling his eyes.

"I mean it's not too late, there's plenty of hotels here—go find one," Timmy said smirking at Armie.

"Only if you come with me," Armie said, wrapping an arm around Timmy's neck to pull him into a headlock until Timmy found the one spot on Armie's side where he was ticklish and released him.

Back in Timmy's apartment, they passed out on his bed after talking for a few hours, drunk and happy to be near each other again. Timmy's legs were tangled up between Armie's, and Armie's head dangerously close to Timmy's shoulder, their colognes mixed into one smell that reminded them of Italy as they slept under Timmy's blankets.

When Timmy woke up, he had two missed calls from her. He slipped out from under Armie's embrace, the two of them gravitating towards one another in the night, and tiptoed away to his fire escape to call her quickly. 

"What the fuck? This is exactly why I didn't want to do this in the first place, you put him over everyone else in your fucking life, how am I the only person who takes issue with this? Oh my god. When did you even get home last night?  Did—" Timmy pulled the phone away from his ear and let his eyes close as he pressed his forehead against his fist.

"Good morning, Jen," he grumbled as his eyes skirted back to Armie in his bed before returning to the cityscape. He'd grabbed Armie's jacket when he went outside, but it still wasn't enough to really warm him against the chill of the morning.

"Tim. This is a problem. He takes over your life every time he visits."

"You've never been with me when he's visited, so you can't say that. And besides, I made plans with _you_ tonight, this is completely off base." He rubbed his face and wondered again if it was worth it. She was nice, though, and she didn’t put up with his shit when he got mopey.

"Does he know?"

"Yes, he's fine with it. He doesn't care, Jen. I told you." He felt a little guilty for lying, but she was always so paranoid about Armie. It was all Timmy could do to keep her calm. His eyes drifted back to Armie, to his foot peeking out from the blankets, his arm draped over the space Timmy was occupying, his face peaceful. Timmy knew the exact spot on his ear that he could kiss to get him to wake up, knew the way his face would scrunch up first and then smooth when he saw it was Timmy. He knew the scar from his surgery was raised and made him shiver if he ran his fingers over it lightly. He knew the freckles he had on his body that were faint and hardly seen. He knew the space between his shoulder blades was softer than it had any right to be. He knew how he kissed when he was still half asleep.

"— _Timmy!"_

"What? I'm listening."

"So we're still on for tonight, then?" He tore his eyes away from Armie and leaned against the fire escape.

"Yeah, of course." The next time he turned around, Armie wasn't in bed anymore, but rather walking towards the kitchen.

 He followed him and smiled when Armie turned on his coffee pot. "Who was that?" he asked, not even turning to look at Timmy.

"No one," Timmy shruged, walking over to him and resting his head against his back momentarily before reaching around him for mugs. "What do you want to do today?" Armie watched him for a moment before sighing and looking back at the coffee pot.

"I don't know. I'm kind of happy to just hang out here, to be honest." Timmy nodded and tucked his hair behind his ears while they waited for their coffee.

"Okay. We can watch movies if you want," he offered. Armie nodded and smiled at him, tried to push the mystery phone call away from his mind.

See, when he woke up, his stomach had clenched when he saw Timmy outside. He laid there for a minute, just watching him shake his head and lull over answers to whoever was on the other line. It was somewhat early, and he felt a pang of jealousy at whoever pulled his focus first thing in the morning. The fact that he wouldn't tell him who it was didn't help much either, but if it had been important, he thinks Timmy would have mentioned it.

They settled on the couch after making toast to go with their coffee, and Timmy's toes buried under Armie's thigh for warmth. Hours passed and Timmy texted Jen back this time; he knew he messed up the day before with ignoring her. While eating lunch, he broached the subject. "So hey, I actually have to do something tonight," he told Armie, his heart racing.

Armie stared at him for a moment. "Is this about that phone call this morning?" Timmy nodded but didn't meet his eyes.

"It's not a big deal, I just have to grab dinner with someone from London. We can do something after, if you want."

"London? For the King Henry thing? You're not going to tell me who?"

"You don't know them," Timmy said with a smile, trying his damn hardest to play it off. He'd debated about telling Armie about her, but he worried it wouldn't end well. He knew it was silly, but Armie's approval meant something to him, and just the potential of it being denied with her made him hesitate. Letting him think it was someone in production made it easier all around.

"What time?"

"7," he said, glancing at his phone. "We have time. I just wanted to give you a heads up, it was kind of last minute."

"Right," Armie said, looking back at his food. Timmy changed the subject and thanked god when Armie didn't push them back towards it. Not until later, that is. Not until Timmy was getting ready. "When will you be back?"

"I don't know, Armie."

"Well where are you going?"

"I don't—"

"What if I need to get in touch with you?"

"I have a phone, Jesus. What's wrong with you today?" Timmy asked, walking over to him and ruffling his hair with a smile.

"I don't have a key to your place," Armie said suddenly in an attempt to excuse his behavior, Timmy's heart stopping.

"…So?"

"I can't leave. I get bored when I'm alone."

"Oh my god, you're twelve years old. Armie, watch a movie and order food,” Timmy smirked.

"That's what we did today," he said. Timmy actually laughed at that as disbelief crept up on him at how mopey Armie sounded.

"Armie, listen. I have to leave, okay? It's like two hours or something, I'll give you my key if this is that big of a deal."

"No, no it's fine." Timmy stared at him and tried to figure out why he was so shifty and clingy all of a sudden. Armie sat down and looked at the T.V., his fingers drumming on his leg.

"I'm sorry, I know you're not here for long," he said quietly. "I'd reschedule if I could."

"Yeah, no it's fine. Go have fun." Armie shifted, trying not to let on that Timmy was close to why he was frustrated. He wanted his attention, even if he felt he didn’t necessarily deserve it.

"Armie—" Timmy sighed.

"Seriously, if this is an important dinner, then go. It sounds important. You're right, it's like two hours. I'm just tired, I think. Jet lag getting to me, maybe. It's okay, really. I don't want to mess with your plans, seriously." Timmy nodded and let out a deep breath. He hesitated before leaving, opted not to put on any cologne to not alert Armie to anything suspicious.

And now Armie's fine…or he was, for about twenty minutes. After the initial boredom starting sinking in, he started pacing the apartment, now wandering to his bed, _his bed_ , and sits down on the edge, stares at the space Timmy took up this morning on the phone as if the fire escape held answers. He texts him, _bored already_ , but deletes it and lays down to stare at the ceiling. Timmy's sheets are soft, but not as soft as his in LA. They have less of a thread count, that's what Elizabeth would say. They were also messy still from this morning, unlike his bed back home which would have been made within ten minutes of them getting up. The blankets are heavy and smell like him—something about Timmy not washing his sheets right before Armie visited made him smile, a quiet and assumed intimacy that they'd share a bed and Armie wouldn't mind.

He stands up and wanders to his kitchen, finds some whiskey, does a shot. He leans against the counter and stares at the space around him that belongs to Timmy and only Timmy. He sighs and looks at the time and frowns. He pulls his phone out and orders some food before walking back to Timmy's couch and turning on a documentary before getting bored and distracted thinking about Timmy out with someone else. He starts flipping through, pausing when he sees Interstellar. Another glance at the time and he hits play, knowing it would still be on when Timmy got home but not caring. He'd probably tease him about it and they'd end up laughing and watching the end of it together, his dinner guest forgotten.

It doesn't take long for him to realize he's made a mistake, because every scene Timmy's in makes him remember that Timmy's not by his side, and every scene he's not in Armie wishes he was. He grows restless missing him, something eating away at his insides with every passing moment that he doesn't care to analyze. By the time 8:30 rolls around, he's practically jumping out of his skin waiting for Timmy to get back. He sends him a text asking if it was going okay, but never got a response.

He sees a tweet of a fan encounter with Timmy from over an hour ago, sees a particular response ("my favorite game…where in the world is @RealChalamet????") and gets an idea, though it's reckless and he knows he shouldn't. He _really_ shouldn't, definitely should _not_ do this. He retweets it, adding "Good question. Anyone know? Asking for a friend….." He sends it out into the world before logic kicks in and tells him he's fucking up. He just can’t shake the feeling that something is _off_ , and he hates it. He _needs_ to know, he tells himself.

Three minutes. It takes three minutes before someone tweets the name of the restaurant he's at, and it makes Armie sick as soon as he sees the tweet because he _knows_ he shouldn't have asked and now…now it's out there. It takes another five minutes before he gets a picture of Timmy inside, and though it's blurry, he sees enough of a girl across from him, enough of _Jen_ , to make his heart drop.

 _JEN? Call me right fucking now_ , he texts Timmy, his palms shaking. He deletes his tweet and DM's the people who replied with solid answers to delete theirs as well, though at this point it feels like he's putting a band aid on a bullet wound with all the attention on Twitter over it. He starts pacing, texts Timmy's publicist that he might be compromised and he's sorry, calls Timmy and gets no answer.

 _What the fuck you tweeted my location?!_ Timmy texts him a few minutes later. He tries calling him again but he doesn't get an answer. He starts panicking, his worst-case scenario playing out of Timmy out with someone, Timmy _out_ with someone, on a _date_ , ditching him for _a date_. He doesn’t think; all he sees is jealousy and anxiety over what he'd done. He grabs a jacket and gets in a car to go to him, making it there fast enough to see him walking half a block down the street from the restaurant. He isn't sure what his plan is because he never made one. All he knows is he hates the way Timmy was walking with her, how he kept her a secret, how he _ditched_ him to go be with her. How he crawled out of bed with him to talk to her this morning and let him believe it was nothing. If it was really nothing, he would have told him. He watches him and feels his chest tighten, his lungs collapse with the effort of breathing with them clouding his vision. There are a few fans nearby, Armie knows. He doesn't think. "Tim!" he shouts, getting out of the car and walking towards them.

"What the _fuck_?" Timmy mutters, turning over his shoulder and seeing him. His eyes go wide.  "What are you doing!" he shouts at Armie.

"I could ask you the same fucking thing," Armie says, approaching him and nodding towards Jen.

"Are you _serious?"_

"You lied to me! Important business dinner?"

"I _never_ said it was a business dinner," Timmy says, his voice shaking, eyes skirting around to see people stopping.

"Timothée," Jen whines, pulling on his arm. "Are you really going to do this to me right now? After what we talked about?" 

"What you _talked about_? You mean this morning when he left me in his bed to—"

"Armie!"

"Your _bed?_ Oh my god, this is so not worth it," she mutters, ripping his hand out of hers and walking away.

"Wait—"

"You promised me, Tim. You _promised._ I'm not doing this." He watches her walk away from him, turning back to Armie with venom in his eyes.

"What the _fuck_ is wrong with you?" he shoves Armie.

"She's not good for you!" Armie says, as if he's said it a thousand times, as if it isn't a thinly veiled excuse for why he's so upset. "You _lied_ to me, you kept this from me because you know I'm not going to bullshit you and pretend it's okay that you're with her."

"Shut up," Timmy says, flagging down a taxi.

"Timmy, you know I'm—"

"I said shut up! You tweeted my location and ruined everything, you asshole! It was going well for the first fucking time and you did that, you just couldn't stand the thought of me being happy could you!" he shouts, turning away from him and getting into the cab.

"Come on, don't—" The door slamming shut silences Armie, his breathing shallow and frantic. He doesn't understand Timmy's anger, not at this level, but then again he supposes he does. He violated his privacy, he hurt him. He feels like shit as he looks around to see if people have taken notice, seeing a few phones. He knows he needs to take care of it, ask them not to post. For Timmy's sake, if not his own. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath before walking over to the group of people who had stopped to record the fight and slips on a careful mask to hide the turmoil he feels. It takes him longer than he thought it would, but they delete the video. He's sure they'll still talk about it, but without a video, it's less incriminating at least.

Timmy locks the door when he gets home, sees Armie's clothes in his room and starts picking them up, throws them into his bag angrily. He's crying before long and blames his anger, his frustration, but he knows that's not the only reason for tears. He collapses against the couch with Armie's sweatpants in his hands, his breathing unsteady. There's a knock at the door and he knows, _he knows_ it's Armie, but he can't stand.

"Timmy, please," he calls.

"Go away," Timmy shouts with what energy he has left. The knocking continues, and Timmy gets up reluctantly and opens the door. "What do you want?"

"I don't want you to see her,” he says as he follows Timmy into the apartment, the door slamming shut behind him.

"God, you _always_ do this! What's wrong with her, huh? Why can't I go out with this one?" Timmy shouts, frustrated out of his mind. It happened like this every time; Armie would find out he was seeing someone and would get all mopey and tell him he didn’t like them. It was infuriating how Timmy wouldn’t ignore it.

"She makes you _crazy_ ," Armie shouts. "You always call me complaining—"

"No I don't. I call you to tell you about the goddamn date, I don't complain!" Timmy blinks rapidly, confused. Had he really complained? Did he remember it wrong, was Armie right? Or was he—was he jealous? Timmy can’t be sure he isn’t just seeing what he wants to see.

"I don't like it."

"Well I don't give a shit what you like, it's _my_ life!" Timmy complains. He’d given Armie opportunities in the past to make his life both of their lives, and he always felt like it fell on deaf ears.

"This is so stupid, Timmy. You know she's not—"

"She's not what? Not, not perfect enough? Sorry we can't all be with fucking little miss perfect, Armie. You of all people should know that."

"Right so now this is my fault because I'm married?" Armie feels nauseous to have his wife brought into it when they both knew she was half the reason he ever runs away to New York.

"It's your fault because you're being ridiculous! You want to know why I didn't tell you? Because you _always_ do this. I can't tell you anything—the second I mention a date you get weird and start trying to convince me they're not good enough. I can't get close to anyone because you're just _there,_ " Timmy says. "You're always there and it's not fair!"

"I'm sorry—"

"No, you're not sorry! If you were sorry you wouldn't fucking do it!" Timmy says, standing and walking towards him

"That's not true—"

"It is! God, it is true and you denying it now—what the fuck do you want from me? Do you want me to just stop trying to be happy? Is that it?"

"No, I—"

"Well what is it then? What do you want?"

"I don't know—"

"That's not a goddamn answer! What do you _want?"_

"I don't _know!"_

" _What do you fucking want—"_

 _"You_ , dammit, I want _you_!" Armie shouts, chest heaving. Time slows between them, Armie's vision going hazy with the need to cry at his confession, both of them desperate to force air into their lungs. There's a siren somewhere in the distance and the sound of honking, one of Timmy's upstairs neighbors walking around above them; still, a pin could drop and they'd hear it.

"I don't understand," Timmy whispers, his mouth dry, limbs heavy.

"I'm in love with you," Armie says, shaking his head. He lifts his arms to his sides and drops them in some sort of exaggerated gesture that falls short as he gives up hiding. He's already said it, he might as well say it until it destroys him.

"I—you—you're—" Timmy shakes his head in disbelief. " _What?"_

"I know it's not fair," Armie says quietly, his voice shaking. "I'm sorry, I wish I wasn't. Believe me. It would be so much easier if I wasn't. But I'm in love with you," his voice cracks out of his own fear of being this open, and he has to clench his jaw to keep his lip from trembling.

Timmy stares at him and swallows, his eyes blinking hard. "You're, you, you're in _love_ , you're in love with…me…" Timmy's face scrunches up and he feels like he might fall over; he grabs the back of the couch near him and braces himself against it. The feeling in his arms feels hazy and he's lightheaded, the confession throwing him off. " _You're in love with me_ ," he says quietly.

"Yes," Armie nods slowly, terrified at his utter lack of reciprocation. Timmy looks up at him with wide eyes and a shortness of breath that pulls Armie's focus. He feels warm suddenly, too exposed. There isn't room for them to hide in Tim's little apartment with Armie's confession taking up so much room. He digs his hands into his pockets and shrugs his shoulders slightly.

Timmy finds his strength somehow and straightens up, squares off to face Armie. "How long have you… been in love with me?" he asks hesitantly, his eyes never leaving Armie's face. The blood in his veins is slowly being turned up in temperature with every passing moment and he can't tell if it's a good sign or a bad sign that this feels like a dream.

"I don't know," Armie answers honestly. "It sort of just…crept up on me."

"What did? Your heart?" Timmy asks, stepping towards him tentatively. Armie nods and swallows, looks down from Timmy's eyes to his chest, his hands, his feet moving closer suddenly. "Look at me," he says softly, Armie's eyes darting back up to his. His shoulders sink under Timmy's gaze, the hair on the back of his neck standing up with every step towards him. "You're an idiot," Timmy mumbles, but there's the slightest hint of a smile behind his words that breathes life into Armie.

"Yeah?" he challenges hesitantly, curious to see if this was going where he hoped it would, if Timmy's slow steps were deliberate.

"Yeah," he nods, reaching Armie and placing a hand over his heart. Armie caves against the touch, Timmy's featherlight fingers pressing against him through the thin fabric of his shirt. His heart races with the subtle touch, which he knows Timmy can feel; it only makes his heart skip. "You should have told me you were jealous all this time," he says, staring at his hand over Armie's beating heart.

"I wasn't—"

"No more lying," Timmy says, leaning up and whispering dangerously close to Armie's ear. For what it's worth, Armie tries to stay still and let Timmy do whatever it is he feels he needs to do. But he's close and warm and alive, and Armie weakens against whatever is boiling under the surface. His hands slip out of his pockets, one lifting enough to brace against Timmy's hip. "Say it again," Timmy requests, Armie blinking a few times at his tone.

"I love—"

Timmy cuts him off, his hands lifting to Armie's hair and pulling him in, their lips meeting at last breathlessly. Tension expels itself from Armie in waves, relief washing over him as his arms lift to wrap around Timmy's frame. "I love you, too," Timmy nods, pulling back after a moment. He touches Armie's cheek and smiles, bites his lip. His gaze wanders before he leans his forehead against him. " _I love you, too_ ," he repeats, kissing him again with more intent.

By the time they get a handle on their emotions, hands on faces and lips swollen from each other, Armie's breathless and questioning why he didn't tell him sooner. Timmy asks him later on the couch with his head on his shoulder why it took him so long when Timmy was clearly in love with him, too. Armie laughs and tells him he would have said something if he knew, that he saw signs and thought it was his own imagination getting ahead of himself. He tells Timmy it would have been too good to be true, and whenever he talked about other guys or girls, it made Armie doubt. "You're silly. I only talked about them because I wanted to see if you'd tell me to stop," Timmy says, drawing lazy patterns with his fingers on Armie's thigh. "I just kind of assumed after a while that you really didn't care."

"I'm a better actor than I thought, then," Armie chuckles, though Timmy just leans up and kisses his cheek, smoothing his hair down.

"I'm just glad you finally told me," Timmy says softly, tucking himself closer to Armie's side. They stay up for hours talking and kissing, caught in some blissful state of being where time doesn’t seem to matter and their hearts are open for the other to take. By the time the sun comes up, they're in each other's arms, content and in love, and utterly determined to make it work.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr! @lookingforatardis


End file.
